The Worst Companion
by Jersey Dagmar
Summary: A young Khajiit looking for revenge soon embarks on an adventure unlike any other. Finding danger and maybe even love in the cold, yet beautiful vastness of Skyrim.
1. Stray Dogs

Droplets of water cascaded down on the bustling city of Whiterun, the residents trying to complete their daily chores even amid the lackluster conditions. Adrianna Avenicci was just finishing packing up her tools when the sound of the creaking entrance of the city's door caught her attention. Despite the rain, she decided to see who entered; she loved seeing the many new faces that entered Whiterun. One of the many reasons she was glad her shop was right at the entrance. As the massive wooden door opened even more, she could make out loud voices. She recognized one as being one of the Guards, but the other had to be from the new visitor.

"Your kind isn't allowed in here, cat! Now be off, before I have you arrested!"

"Oh shut up, you mindless human. I am no thief! Doesn't look to be anything of value in this whole damned province anyway, I should move my hide back to the Isles."

The female blacksmith was able to deduce that the stranger was a Khajiit, and a Khajiit who was extremely bold, as he didn't seem intimated by the customs of the local Nords. The Imperial woman couldn't help by grin, she had a feeling she was going to like this newcomer.

The male feline slammed the door, shutting out the verbal rage from the Guard on the other side. Yet, no one else deemed it necessary to challenge him. He was large, black fur with bold white stripes that darted through his darker coloring. A small bit of red paint adorned his nose and piercing fire like eyes narrowed as he surveyed his surroundings. The Khajiit's ears moved as they caught every little noise that could be heard and his tail lashed about in either excitement or anger. The cat suddenly turned his attention to Adrianna, who finally managed to put away all her equipment for the day.

"Ah, you're a blacksmith. Tell me Imperial, where may I join a Guild or acquire money around here?" The woman was taken aback at being addressed so suddenly, but decided it would best not be rude. After all, it appeared the Khajiit was right, he was no thief and he wanted to earn an honest living.

"Well, you could always go to the Bannered Mare. Usually the Jarl's men will drop a bounty of some sort. You know the typical band of criminals that need to be exterminated from the Hold. But, that kind of work can run dry. There are also the Companions. It's something like a Guild. They tend to get better paid work, but getting into the group isn't easy." Adrianna smoothed out her apron, watching to see if the Khajiit man took a liking to her suggestions. He finally smiled at her, "Thank you. That should do quite nicely. And if I am in ever the need of weapons or armor, I'll be sure to look you up. Gods know these tattered clothes of mine aren't something that can aid in battle." He bowed slightly turning to head further into the city.

It took a moment for the Warmaiden to gain her composure from the meeting, but called after the supposed warrior, "Um, what is your name? If I am to do future business with you, I'd like to know."

The beast man turned only a bit, glancing at her, "The name is Alastair Katzen. Trust me, the name shall become very well known around here. I will make sure of that." Without another word, the Khajiit headed off, paying the blacksmith no further mind.

Vilkas stumbled into Jorrvaskr, blood dripping from a deep wound. There was no one else in the Hall and he collapsed into a heap near the fire pit. His latest mission had not gone to plan; he probably should have taken one of the others. However, he didn't even consider an Assassin from the Dark Brotherhood to show up among the Silver Hand. The only logical explanation he could make was that one of the Silver Hand members were marked by the Brotherhood as well as the Companions. By the time Vilkas had gotten into the main chamber of the hideout, all the Silver Hand was dead and the Assassin was just leaving. The murderer clearly didn't want any witnesses and had charged the warrior. Vilkas knowing what he was up against decided to take no chances and had transformed into the Wolf. The two fought for what seemed like hours, both injuring the other. Most of the attacks from the Assassin did little to faze him, until the blade stabbed him deep in the gut. The blow had ended his transformation and the Assassin took the chance to escape. '_At least I managed to severely wound her, one less murderer on the streets…_'

'_Where..are they?!_' His brain was riddled with agony and he tried desperately to crawl, to find one of his Shield Siblings. He began to consider the blade was poisoned by the Assassin, but pushed the thought back as quickly as he considered it. He couldn't think like that, not now. He was a Companion, he would get through this. He would not be made inferior by a coward who hung in the shadows.

The sound of the door opening lifted the man's hopes. One of his brethren would see him and help him. Using every bit of strength he had remaining, he turned his broken body to look up at who entered into the building. Vilka's smile soon faded from his face, realizing it was not one of his Companions. It was a Khajiit, a rather large Khajiit, who bore an almost sinister grin on his muzzle. The feline bent down, balancing itself on padded feet.

"What have we got here? A bruised and battered Nord it seems. Some throw away bandits get the better of you, hm?" Vilkas did not answer a mix between lack of energy and unsure what the Khajiit was planning. For all the Nord knew, this cat was an Assassin as well, sent to finish the job of the other. No witnesses.

Alastair caught the suspicion in the eyes of the Nord; at least the human was cautious. "I'm not going to kill you, but you need attention. Unless you rather wait for one of your own to help you, I'm all you got. Normally, I wouldn't assist the likes of you. But, I wish to get into your little establishment here. I help you, you help me. Sound simple?"

Vilkas nodded through clenched teeth, not too pleased with how the cat worded his offer of help. There was an underlining of malice there, that much was obvious, but what other choice to he have? He closed his eyes as he felt the Khajiit grab hold of him, slinging one of his arms around the board furry shoulders. Vilkas weakly pointed to the staircase leading to the quarters of the Companions, hoping his helper didn't need any further instruction.

When his tired body felt the soft comfort of a bed, he sighed a bit from relief. Opening his eyes only he bit, he looked about the room. The Khajiit had placed him in his brother's room, but that was alright. It didn't matter what bed he was in at this point. He turned his head to the sound of rustling, catching sight of Tilma pouring hot water into a bowl. Dipping a cloth into the warm liquid she turned to Vilkas.

"Ah, I see you managed to wake up a bit, I didn't even know you were lying about upstairs injured! Good thing that nice Khajiit found you. All your brethren are out at one of the farms, taking care of a Giant problem."

"Tilma, did you catch my rescuer's name?"

"Of course I did, dear, his name is Alastair. Quite charming really and very polite for a Beast. He's speaking with Kodlak right now. He wishes to join the Companions."

Vilkas laid his head back down onto the bed and as he closed his eyes he could still see the sneer the Khajiit had upon his face. There was something very dark about this man, but right now Vilkas could do little to voice this. The Khajiit had helped him and the others would see it as a kind gesture and welcome him into the fold of the Companions. Their group held honor and fellowship above all else, but this cat had none of that. The Nord could tell, this Alastair was all in it for personal gain. Whatever gain that maybe, conquest, money, fame, Vilkas had no idea.

Tilma finished cleaning the wound and headed out of the dimly lit room. The man laid upon his bed, staring up at the ceiling. What was this Khajiit after? Surely he didn't know the dark secret that plagued the Companions. Not even the long term residents of Whiterun knew and it was best that they didn't. If the citizens knew what the inner workings of the Companions really were, they would be banished or killed.

Vilkas was just about to doze off into slumber when he felt another presence in his room. He knew it was this Alastair but didn't bother to open his eyes. "What do you want? You got what you wanted. You are in the Companions. Of course I'll find out why you wanted to join us so badly. I sense no honor within you."

The Khajiit pretended to be hurt by the Nord's words, but smirked all the same, "Is your entire race so untrusting of mine? Would you prefer I join up with one of the Caravans? I assure you, I have more potential than that." Alastair stroked the fur on his chin, leaning on the door frame. The awkward silence was incredibly loud and it made Vilkas quite nervous. Taking a deep breath, be broke the quiet, "And what are you good at Khajiit? Your kind is usually gifted with thievery and smuggling."

"I advise you to call me Alastair, after all, I'm in your merry little band now. No need to be so disrespectful, Vilkas. And while yes, I am Khajiit, I was raised by Altmer. Oh, you appear shocked. However, I'm not surprised. Recent times have made many weary of the High Elves as well. But, I will tell you now not to speak ill of my parents. Good folk. Thanks to them I received the best possible education. But, my real talent was in combat. "Alastair suddenly became quiet, his ears folding a bit back and slight sorrow was etched on his face. "Not like it did a lot of good though."

The human caught the saddened tone finally opening his eyes at the Khajiit. "Why? What happened?" Despite asking these questions, Vilkas had a feeling he already knew the answer. Maybe this man wasn't as bad as he first thought. But, Alastair didn't go into a further detail, just merely left the room and Vilkas. The Nord supposed he couldn't blame the other, they had just met, and some things were best not discussed on first meetings. In time, perhaps, the Khajiit would tell more of the story.

A figure collapsed at the eerie black door, her blood drenched hand making a handprint upon it. Mustering all the strength she had, she managed to push it open. All over her body there were scratches and they were deep. In hindsight, she should have been proud of herself. Going up against one of the Companion Werewolves and managing to make it this far, yet the thought did little to ease the immense agony she was in. She just hoped her sharpened Ebony dagger ended the canine's life. She never liked those 'hero' types. Her vision began to blur as she made it to the parlor room of the Sanctuary, her sensitive ears picking up talking further in. Hopefully one of her Family would come this way and find her, she lacked the strength to call out for them.

Her eyelids gave in and closed shut, blackness taking over her. Surely this was it; surely she had entered the Void to meet the Dread Father. Killed by a damn dog.


	2. Doing Work

Alastair scribbled quickly on a parchment of paper, his fellow Companions paying little mind to what he was doing. The Khajiit had been with them already for a month and they had found him to be quite odd. While he was an amazing warrior just like he claimed, he also took time to write and read. He had explained to his Shield-Siblings the importance of knowledge and how a warrior couldn't rely just on brawn alone. Needless to say, his little talk didn't seem to have made an impact.

Crossing out a word Alastair folded back his ears in annoyance. How he hated being around those of little intelligence. As he sat working on a letter to be send to the General of the Imperial Legion his comrades were busy training back area of the hall. The Khajiit was sitting on the patio, trying to enjoy the nice sunny day as he wrote, but his lingering thoughts were causing him to make many mistakes. The loud yells and hollering didn't help matters either; Alastair kept glancing up whenever Farkas made an unnecessary bellow.

"Dear brother, do you think perhaps you could tone it down? I am trying to write." Alastair spoke with an insincere kindness, hoping it would fool the Nord. He wasn't in the mood to actually be kind to the oaf in anyway.

"But brother, this is my training time. Couldn't you…write in your room?" Alastair's tail twitched at the response, Farkas was such an idiot that he had forgotten that only the Inner Circle was afforded their own rooms. Deciding best not to indulge the Nord's stupidity Alastair gathered up his writing materials and headed inside.

Alastair quickly learned that wasn't the best of plans, he had almost collided with Skjor. "Ah, there you are. We have a job for you, Alastair. Nothing too difficult, but someone in Windhelm needs some wolves removed from their food storage room. An easy enough job." Before Alastair could protest his superior had already wandered off, leaving the cat to boil over his new assignment. The Khajiit was no fool, he had heard the stories about Windhelm, and how the Jarl's views of other races made the city a hot spot for racial fighting. Not only that, but the Jarl was the leader of the rebellion known as the Stormcloaks. His eyes suddenly gazed down onto his parchment paper, wondering if messaging the Legion General was the way to go. The Empire currently sat uncomfortably close to the Dominion and the General more than likely would not aide the Khajiit in his quest. However, these Stormcloaks might, with a little persuasion. Alastair knew they would distrust him for his race, but that was fine. He had no intentions to actually help them in their silly cause; he had more pressing matters to attend to. Just a little manipulating and Alastair could easily get what he needed from the Stormcloaks, before they even had any idea of what he was doing.

"Perhaps, this won't be such a terrible job after all…" The Khajiit stroked the fur on his chin, his tail now curling with contained glee.

"Are you sure you want to do this assignment? You are still healing from your wounds and if you are caught in Windhelm..." Astrid watched as the newest Assassin gathered their things for a long journey. Slight concern was etched over the older woman's face.

"I know the risks, Astrid. But, I still need to prove myself. I completely botched the last contract and got hurt in the process. I'm just glad no one followed me back here…"

"Adelphia, you went up against a Werewolf, who was one of the Companions no less. Even my husband is impressed by that. You don't need to prove yourself; we all know what you can do. We just don't want to see you get killed. Remember, we are a family. "

"I know. But, I have to do this for myself as well. I know I can do this." Astrid sighed but smiled at the other, "Then take my horse. His name is Shadowmere. He'll protect you during your journey and provide fast transportation."

"Thanks."

Adelphia adjusted her pack of supplies and headed out; she noticed the red eyed horse standing in the glistening black pool. "You must be Shadowmere. Nice to meet you. Mind if I place some supplies on you? Don't worry, they aren't too heavy, but you appear to be a nice strong horse. " Shadowmere neighed in answer, not protesting to the packs that the Nord placed on him. Hoisting herself on top of the horse she took one last glance at the Black Door. "I won't fail this time." Lightly kicking the horse's sides, she began her long trip to the snowy city of Windhelm.

Alastair awoke to the sounds of cold wind blowing against his ears, opening his eyes he saw the looming walls of the city of Windhelm. "Finally…" The driver of the wagon stopped the horse at the stables, turning to his customer. "We are here, sir. Still, I think you need to be careful. Windhelm isn't known for being welcoming…"

"Just take your coin and be off." The driver quickly quieted taking the money and riding off. The Khajiit sneered at the city before him. He would take care of the job first, and then head to the Blue Palace to speak to the supposed legendary Ulfric Stormcloak. Alastair straightened his battleaxe for reassurance as he trudged forward. He was aware that he was intimidating looking, he was wearing a full set of Steelplate Armor save for the helm and had a Steel Battleaxe at the ready. Even the most battle hardened Nord or Orc would see him as a threat. And that was exactly how Alastair wanted it.

A light snowfall began to fall as Alastair made his way up the massive city gates. The guards took notice of him in an instant and descended upon him. "What are you doing here, cat? Your kind is not allowed in here." Alastair crossed his arms in defiance and folded his ears back, "And why not? I have a job to perform. I have to clear out a food storage room of wolves. Perhaps if the city guard did their job, the Companions wouldn't have to trek out to this sorry excuse for a city, and do the job for you. Now move aside, I have no qualms about killing either one of you."

The two Nords were taken aback by the Khajiit's attitude, never really meeting one that would so fearlessly stand up to them. They both stood aside for the Companion, allowing him to enter into Windhelm.

"Yes, that's what I thought…" Alastair spoke these words in a hushed tone. Like most Nords he had met in the past in other provinces, the native ones of Skyrim were just as much as pushovers as the rest. Despite it being midday, the city was quite dark, the snowy clouds above casting a shadow upon the stony keeps and walls. The warrior brushed some snow from his fur when he caught sight of two Nords harassing a female Dunmer. Alastair's tail lashed about for a moment, he was eager to start a fight.

"What seems to be the problem gentlemen…and lady?" Alastair smiled at the Dark Elf, using his charm to get into her good graces. It was a useful skill that aided him just as much as his skill in battle.

"Oh look, now the guards are allowing the damn cats into the city. First the grey faces and now beasts. At least the lizards have the decency to stay outside of the city!"

"You mean the Argonians aren't allowed in the city?"

"That's right you mangy beast. The Dunmer should go join them. Since what Ulfric gave them to live in wasn't good enough!" It was becoming more and more clear that the man was drunk; still, this didn't excuse his behavior. Not in Alastair's eyes anyway. He ignored the raving man for moment, turning to speak with the Elf.

"I was aware that the Nords here were weary of other races, but not to this extent. I take it you Dunmer are treated badly as well?"

The Dunmer woman nodded, "Yes. We were forced to live in slums and the Nords don't wish to give us decent jobs. They simply don't trust us. And the Argonians are treated just as badly. Have to live out on the docks and get paid terrible wages for their hard work."

"Well, why the Argonians should be paid at all! Only work done by Nords should be rewarded!" The belligerent man started up again and Alastair had had just about enough of the mead induced rambling. With a well-aimed fist, Alastair sent the man to the ground, out cold.

"Oh, you shouldn't have done that…"

Alastair glanced back at the woman, "Why not? He was drunk and out of hand. No need for him to continue shouting about." The Elf only shook her head, "He's the brother of Galmar Stone-Fist. The right hand man of Ulfric Stormcloak himself, you are going to have a lot of heat coming your way my friend." Without another word, the woman retreated from the scene, clearly not wishing to be around when things were going to get messy.

"Ugh, perfect. Just what I need, and here I was supposed to charm these barbarians. "Alastair bent down, dragging the unconscious man into an upright position. "No need for you to be face first on the ground, least I can do. Though, I have a feeling your friend has already fetched the local guard on me."

As if on cue, a Windhelm guard approached the Khajiit, sword in hand. "I was informed you assaulted this man. That's at least two days in prison, though it should be more…considering what you are." Though the Nord did not outright say it, Alastair knew the human was addressing his race.

"And so what if I did knock him on his rear? He is drunk and was verbally attacking a woman minding her own business. Though, I suppose the verbal abuse was alright since the lady was a Dunmer I take it?" The Khajiit's tail lashed in fury and he was itching to grab his battleaxe and go on a rampage.

"You've said enough, cat. You are off to the barracks!" Alastair was going to protest a bit more, but he suddenly felt more eyes on him. Turning around he saw more guards and realized he was outnumbered. He weighed his options and thought of a different approach. "I'm one of the members of the Companions, I was hired to kill some wolves that were raiding a food storage room. I told the guards outside the same thing."

"Oh, the same guards you threatened Khajiit? Likely story. However, we will contact the Companions to see if your story pans out. If you are telling the truth, we'll release you."

"What you said my sentence would only be two days? Now you are holding me hostage until you here from my comrades?"

The Nords did not answer him, merely shoved him forward to get him walking towards the Blue Palace. Alastair knew he had little choice but to go along with it. He was a warrior, but not an idiot. Sometimes the best course of action was to do what you needed to do into order to fight the next day. He knew he could find a way out of the prison if he just used his brains. Or if some luck was thrown his way.

Leaping from rooftop to rooftop the Dark Brotherhood Assassin paused for a moment to witness the drama that was unfolding down below. She slightly smiled as the Khajiit came to the defense of the Dunmer. Normally, Adelphia wouldn't have even been concerned with any of this, but there was something about the Khajiit. He had a certain charm that much she could tell. Still, she had a job to do and couldn't spend her time eyeing up the men the wandered into the city.

"Business before pleasure, as they say." She muttered the saying to herself, as a reminder that she was the member of the Dark Brotherhood and that a relationship was something that she was not looking for at the time being. Her duty was to her family and the Dread Father.

Using the shadows of the ancient city to her advantage, Adelphia slipped further away from main gate and towards the Blue Palace. She couldn't believe where she was heading, couldn't believe who she was hired to murder in cold bold. Yet, at the same time, she could believe it. This man had made himself many enemies, that much was sure. Though the Brotherhood cared very little for politics and who was in 'charge' Adelphia couldn't help but think how this would shift the outcome of the Civil War. In one way, it pleased her. One of her old time friends had joined the Imperial Legion and Adelphia would never wish to see the death of someone she actually cared about. Yet, it didn't surprise the assassin that that same friend had joined the Thieves Guild. Adelphia was always the one of very low honor among the folks she knew. She enjoyed being a killer for hire; it fed her and gave her job security.

"Back to the task at hand."

Adelphia had made it to the Blue Palace. Standing atop a ledge and eyeing up the massive gates and smirked, "Time to die Ulfric Stormcloak."


End file.
